


The Triskelion on the coffee mug.

by Elica



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Brittany!, Coffee Shop, Fluff, M/M, Writer!Derek, attempting, fluffffffffff, hints of suicidal tendencies in the past, trigger warning: mention of suicide, unashamed promotion of French pastries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-16
Updated: 2014-09-16
Packaged: 2018-02-17 16:14:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,016
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2315654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elica/pseuds/Elica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Derek chooses a new coffee shop to work.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Triskelion on the coffee mug.

"Derek."

Laura was looking at him suspiciously but with a point of humor that made him nervous.

"What."

He wouldn't admit anything, damn it! His twin sister smirked then and took another taste of her hot chocolate.

"Though I must admit, this is really good. I thought French breakfast was limited to _croissant_ and _baguette_ but I was very wrong."

"It's a Brittany specialties' coffee shop, Laura. You won't find any _croissant_ here."

Laura rolled her eyes: "Yeah, I know how to read, stupid."

She stole a bit of his last _crêpe,_ the one with only salt butter on it, the best kind according to Derek.

"So... Let see why you like this place so much."

"I like it because you're not there... usually."

She didn't listen to him: "It's calm. The table is large enough for your computer and the gym is only to streets away."

She could stop with these but it was Laura Hale, the woman who lived to embarrass Derek.

"Don't think I haven't noticed, little brother."

At this exact moment, the waiter, a young and beautiful and cute and annoying student named Stiles, came over to refill their coffee and chocolate.

"Do you want any more _crêpe?_ Or we have biscuits called _palets bretons_. We just received them this morning."

"Aw, aren't you a cutie..."

Derek wanted the earth to swallow him just right now. His sister was a menace and he couldn't understand how they could be fucking twins. But Stiles didn't seem bothered by Laura's words.

"Thank you, but the biscuits won't get free for just some kind of appreciation."

"I like you! I want one of these. Derek too!"

As Stiles made his way to the counter, Laura leant over her brother: "I've found why you come here almost every day."

Derek was just sick of it: "Ok. So first, I really like to be alone when I'm writing and since my apartment is still occupied by Boyd's family, I come here."

His best friend had to make some work on his own house and it was easier for them if Vernon Junior and Selina could live in an apartment with an actual bathroom.

"Then, yes, the coffee is fantastic. And I don't know if you sa it, but they also have an entire library about Celtic mythology. My next novel takes place in Brittany and South England."

"In short, your presence here has nothing to do with the waiter?"

"Which waiter?"

asked suddenly Stiles as he returned to their table with four little biscuits on a plate.

"You, of course."

Derek wanted to strangle Laura, if not for Stiles' free and unashamed laugh. Ha was so beautiful it as unfair to Derek: he couldn't fight against that.

"Nah, I'm not a waiter. I own the place."

"Really? But you're what, eighteen?" asked Derek without thinking.

"I'm ten years older actually, but thanks, I guess. Old man. Here are your _palets bretons_. Have a good day!"

Thankfully, Laura was called by her baby-sitter less than five minutes after that. Poor Billy had a bad case of flue, but Derek would be eternally graceful for this. Bad uncle.

 

***

 

One week later, Derek found himself late in the evening at the coffee shop. He had a deadline and had been writing for hours,not even noticing when the place began to empty.

There had been a little music concert during the late afternoon and the music in itself had helped.

"You want to sleep here?"

Derek raised his head. The coffee shop was empty, the only light still on being the one above is own head. Stiles was smiling at him though you could see he was tired.

"Oh sorry. I didn't see the time."

"It's alright. I know that when you're finally able to write, you have to do it the longest possible. White page blocks are the worst. Some tea? I've got some maple infusion from Canada. It's quite good."

"I... I don't want to..."

"You may want to save your file, close your computer and so on? Just the time to get two mugs and some tea."

Derek was confused as well as a little happy. Stiles' coffee shop was quite a success and he had only two (real) waiters to help him, and two high schoolers on the week-ends.

"So, what are you writing?"

He noticed two cakes he hadn't seen before, some kinds of custard.

"I tried the recipe this afternoon", explained Stiles. "It's custard with lots of sugar, eggs, milk and prune. It's called a _fare breton_. I think you'll like it."

Derek cut a part of the cake with his spoon and took it to his mouth. It was delicious.

"So, if you ask questions, can I ask you some too?"

Stiles seemed to think about it for like twenty seconds, then nodded, smiling. Derek shrugged, like his job wasn't really his dream job but just something like anything else.

"It seems justified. So, go on!"

"I'm writing murder stories."

Stiles' eyes widened: "Really? I thought you were some kind of teacher or researcher. My dad loves murder stories; What's your pen name? Is it Derek Hale?"

"It's my turn to ask."

Stiles pouted but let Derek speak.

"Why Brittany?"

"That's easy: I lived there for a little more than two years. Or more precisely, four months in Paris and twelve in Brittany. _Je parle même un peu français_."

"That's impressive. I write under a pen name, and if this secrets gets out of this room, I'll have to kill you. Understand?"

Stiles nodded, his chin on his hands, concentrated on Derek's words.

"I am Tyler Alpha."

"Whoah... That's... That's in fact really impressive," said Stiles, his mouth hanging open. "I mean... My dad has really read your books. You wrote five, that's right?"

Derek nodded: "In fact, I wrote seven. But the five you father have must be of my series."

"With Dylan Poe. Oh I love this guy."

"You read it too?"

Stiles'eyes wandered a bit, not fixing Derek anymore and his voice became a bit strange, old maybe, intimate.

"Well, i read it in the plane when I went to France. I... I couldn't take any sleeping pills and I was going crazy for this long travel, so my father gave me the first book he found in the airport bookstore and told me it was good. He was right. But... I don't read that much anymore."

Though Derek wanted to know more of this story, he didn't push. He was glad he didn't though, when Stiles' smile returned:

"Hey, it's my turn to ask! Since you made me answer this very personal questions... Would you accept a dinner on next Saturday? I'll cook."

"I... I dont think we've flirted enough for this. A restaurant perhaps?"

Stiles' laugh was surprising, but his blush was still visible on his pale skin.

"Nah, it's not a date. I'd like to surprise my father. It's his birthday and I really didn't know what to offer to him. If he can share a beer with his favorite author, I think he'll be happy. So, what do you think?"

Though Derek was a little disappointed, he agreed. As they were going out, Stiles closing the blind on the windows, the young man explained him that John, his father, was the sheriff of the town, thouh he was waiting for his retirement. He was a widower, a good reader and liked to be "the most normal American ever": he enjoyed watching a football game on their very old TV in their backwards during summer, with a good bear at hand and a baseball cap on.

"He seems a good man."

"The best ever."

 

***

 

There was still an entire week before the sheriff's birthday, but they had two more late discussions before this. Stiles was always happy to chat, like he had to get read of some energy before leaving work.

"So, how did you create Dylan Poe? Why the name?"

"This is very silly. My mum was a huge fan of Bob Dylan. She was a businesswoman; nobody could know that she was a sucker for this king of pop songs. And my dad introduced me to literature with Alan Poe."

"It's an homage then. That's quite heartbreaking."

"In fact they knew why I give my hero this name. They were the first to read his very first adventure, even before I tried to find an agent."

"What did they say when you were published?"

Derek couldn't hide his hurt and Stiles immediately excused himself. He came back red in the face with an extra piece of ** _ Kouign-amann _ ** – a very strange cake which involved far too much butter for any nutritionist. It was delicious.

“Sorry.”

“Don't be. You told me your mother passed away. So did my parents. I must admit my first public signing were a little hard, more so that I dedicated the book to them. So, here's the story of Dylan Poe.”

“It's a good story.”

“And you, why did you go to France?”

Stiles grimaced but didn't fly away.

“I was at Stanford, living the life of an over intelligent, over curious, too energetic guy who discovered he could also have anyone he wanted in his bed. So I did it, I overdid it in fact. I didn't even reach the first period of exams before I... just gave it up. Like, one night I was good and the next morning I... wanted to jump from the next roof.”

His voice broke and Derek couldn't stop himself when he leaned over and took Stiles' hands in his'.

“You don't have too.”

“No, I think I need it in fact. Only my dad and my two best friends know and even, they don't really know with my point of view. Except if you don't want...”

“No, go on.”

Stiles smiled a little though there was some tears on his eyes. He didn't took off his hands.

“So, my roommate found me and ordered me to stay in bed while he was calling my father. And in the same time, my boyfriend of the time texted me to say I as the worst laid he ever had and said some very mean stuff and there was sleeping pills and... Well... My father took me back home, I couldn't even see a professional and thats when Lydia saved me.”

“Lydia?”

“My second best friend. She knew I was really bad though she didn't know the details. She ordered me to come join her in England. I stayed four months in some ecological farm, eating vegetables and drinking really bad coffee. Then Allison, Scott's ex girlfriend, found me some job in Paris. And then she went to Brittany for her own studies and I followed her and... yeah, here I am. My old self living with his father, who couldn't even finish college.”

“But with his coffee shop he owned. A guy who organizes concerts and readings and kids' readings, and have a great library and cooked like he was born in some strange French country. I think it's quite the life you have.”

Derek smiled: “Maybe Dylan Poe could meet some American ecological activist and fall in love with him.”

“Dylan Poe is gay?”

“He could be.”

“Dylan Poe is in love?”

“I think it would ask for some story development. Not at a birthday, but maybe a real date?”

“Where did you put the shy ad silent guy that used to sit there for one month before speaking to me? Did you kill him?”

“I hid the body very well.”

Stiles smirked. Then yawned.

It was near one in the morning and Derek was as tired as his – hopefully – soon to be boyfriend. But whatever: he ate delicious exotic pastries, was working so well on his novel, nd he was, all in all, quite happy.

What could he ask for more?

 

***

 

Two days later Derek had a text from Laura. It was just after John Stilinski's birthday.

“So, did you bang him?”

Yeah, may be he could ask to not have a twin sister.

 


End file.
